New York, I Love You But You're Bringing Me Down
by EmiEllie
Summary: Pre-pilot. The characters' reactions to finding out Serena has left New York. Serena, Blair, Nate, Dan and Chuck. Rated T for a little bit of light smut and language (but nothing too gratuitous).
1. Nate

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Gossip Girl. All characters are property of Cecily von Ziegesar.**

* * *

**Chapter One**

**In the summertime,  
I fear I'm gonna lose my mind.  
But she's always avoiding falling in love,  
Yes, it's due to a life of a private affair.**

**- The Virgins**

* * *

**Sunday, 11 AM**

I wake up late, hangover haze clouding my thoughts.

Everything's changed.

I should be basking in the afterglow, but there's no one beside me except my guilt.

I should be looking forward to lunch with my beautiful girlfriend and our parents, but I'm not.

All I can feel is the sensation of dread roiling in my stomach.

And something else...

_Desire? Want?_

But not for her.

Images flit through my mind like moving pictures.

Yellow-gold taffeta, twirling.

The strange and beautiful blonde girl.

Wobbling fairy steps across the oaken bar.

The _pop _and_ fizz_ of champagne.

An effervescent fountain soaks us to the skin.

Melodic giggling, ringing in my ears.

She lowers her lithe body onto my awaiting lap.

Lavishing kisses over my jaw line and neck.

Fumbling with belt buckles and buttons.

And then it happens, all of a blur.

I'm inside of her, filling her up completely.

She's writhing atop of me, hips grinding rhythmically against my own.

She laughs, and gasps, and shrieks.

She calls out for more. For God. For me.

_Nate, oh Nate._

"Nathaniel!"

It's not her voice anymore.

"Hurry up and get ready, we're supposed to be at the Waldorfs' by noon."

"Yes, Mom," I reply with all the enthusiasm I can summon.

I roll over into my pillow to stifle a loud _huff._

_._

**Sunday, 12 PM**

"Hello sweetie." Blair dances towards me excitedly.

I smile weakly, barely hiding my shame.

Stuck in Blair-land, she doesn't even notice.

She throws her arms around my neck.

I can smell her sweet fragrance, my face pressed into her silky chocolate ringlets.

She releases me from the vise-tight embrace and leans in to kiss me chastely at the corner of my mouth.

She giggles and capers off to greet my parents.

The charade is falling apart.

At dinner, the six of us chit-chat inanely amongst ourselves.

_"Yes, lacrosse is going very well thank you, Mr Waldorf."_

_"No,_ _I haven't visited the Dartmouth campus yet."_

_"Yes, I did enjoy the opera." _

_"The roast beef is delicious."_

I'm talking, but it feels like I'm not even in the room.

Blair squeezes my hand underneath the table, attempting to interlace our fingers.

I don't pull away, but my fingers are limp and unresponsive.

.

**Sunday, 5 PM**

I'm exhausted. The devoted boyfriend act is wearing thin.

Thankfully, we're saying goodbye.

Until tomorrow. At 8.30 AM, the whole show starts again.

Blair is holding me again.

"I love you," she declares with the most intense sincerity.

"Love you too," I instinctively reply.

But the words ring hollow. I'm not sure I mean them anymore.

I'm glad she can't see my face. It's probably betraying me over her shoulder.

I hear the elevator _ding _as it reaches the top floor and the doors slide open.

We step inside.

Relief, I feel relief.

.

**Sunday, 11 PM**

It's dark.

I'm laying on my back, focussing intently on the ceiling.

It feels miles away. Everything feels miles away today.

I'm thinking about Serena.

I haven't heard from her since it happened.

Should I have called?

I grab my cell phone from the bedside table.

**_Hey S. How was your day?_**

The message feels too casual. I delete it and try again.

**_S, I think we should talk about what happened last night. - N_**

Too serious. But it will have to do. I press send.

.

**Monday, 3 AM**

I'm still awake.

I check my phone for the twentieth time.

Still 'no new messages'.

.

**Monday, 8.30 AM**

I walk through the gate of Constance/St. Jude's.

People are gathered as usual, enjoying their lattes, yoghurt and pastries.

Blair and the mean girls are silently scathing freshmen with their beady eyes.

Chuck is hiding in a solitary corner, joint balancing between his lips.

I make sure Blair isn't looking, before darting towards Chuck.

"Pass," I demand, nerves shot.

Today I have to see Serena and Blair... _together._

I have to pretend that everything is completely normal.

Chuck eyes me sceptically, but holds out the joint anyway.

"Is Blair not cracking the whip today?" he asks sardonically.

I shrug, but I offer no response. My eyes don't meet his.

"Have you two fallen out?"

He's trying to act concerned, but he doesn't understand.

Women are disposable to Chuck Bass.

He would probably smirk and give me a pat on the back if he knew that I had sex at the weekend... with my girlfriend's best friend.

I resolve not to tell him.

I take a deep pull from the joint, an instant calm surging through my veins.

Then I peek round the corner to see if Blair is still there.

She's gone.

I head to class, hoping I don't bump into her in the corridor.

.

**Monday, 12.30 PM**

Lunchtime.

I contemplate skipping out and cutting class with Chuck for the afternoon.

But I know I'll break under the pressure and end up spilling my dirty secret if I spend too much time with him.

So that's another person to add to my ever-extending list of people to avoid.

I decide to head out into the courtyard. I don't want Blair to get suspicious.

She immediately sees me as I step through the doors.

"Nate, where were you this morning? I missed you."

She's bounding towards me, doe-eyes wide with admiration.

I don't deserve her.

"I was running late," I lie.

She pulls me into an affectionate hug.

I'm looking for Serena over her shoulder, but I can't see her.

"No Serena today?" I can't resist asking.

"No, she's mysteriously absent. Maybe she still has a hangover from Saturday," Blair laughs.

She looks so beautiful when she laughs, but it doesn't make my heart flutter the way it used to.

I struggle to hide the disappointment in my eyes.

"Blair!" Penelope's voice is demanding.

Blair turns her head for half a second.

"I'm afraid I have to get back to ruling the kingdom."

She presses her soft lips to my cheek.

"Walk me home this afternoon?"

I can't resist her warm, gently-pleading tone.

I nod my head and smile a little half-smile.

She gracefully dances back to her minions.

I pull my cell phone out of my pocket.

_**Are you okay? - N**_

It's not unusual for Serena to skip school. Her attendance record is almost as bad as Chuck's.

But I'm concerned, for some inexplicable reason.

Is she avoiding me?

.

**Monday, 10 PM**

I walked Blair home in almost complete silence.

She didn't notice because she was happily babbling about her mother's fashion show and the annual Constance sleepover.

It was nice to see her so cheerful and relaxed for a change.

It would have warmed my heart, but I'm starting to wonder if I even have one. How could I be so cruel to her?

Serena never replied.

I tried calling when I got home but, alas, she did not answer.

.

My phone vibrates in my pocket. Maybe it's her.

I answer without even checking the caller ID, eagerly anticipating her sweet, euphonious voice.

"Nathaniel, I'm waiting outside in my limo. Get down here now," Chuck's husky voice demands down the line.

He hangs up before I even have chance to protest.

"I'm taking you to a new burlesque club in Midtown," he explains as I slide into the back of the car.

I throw my head back against the plush leather seats and groan emphatically.

But it beats a night in alone, with only my treacherous thoughts for company.

.

**Tuesday, 10 AM**

I'm hungover again.

Chuck's night of 'quiet entertainment' - as he had put it - quickly spiralled out of control.

By some miracle, I made it into school for second period.

English is boring.

It's raining.

I still haven't spoken to Serena. She's not at school again.

I'm avoiding Blair. She'd be furious if she saw me in this state.

.

**Tuesday, 4 PM**

I walk home in the rain, hoping that it will clear my head.

Somehow I managed to make it through the whole day without vomiting or passing out.

And I didn't bump into Blair once.

I don't feel any better for it. The flurry of guilt blustering in my stomach has intensified into a fully-fledged storm.

I know that the only way to cure the sickening feeling inside of me is to tell her the truth.

That I had sex with Serena.

That I regret keeping it from her. I regret hurting her.

I'm sorry for how it happened.

But none of that changes the indubitable truth. The inconvenient reality I've been avoiding for the last three days.

My phone starts to vibrate in my pocket before breaking into Blair's personal message tone.

I contemplate ignoring it entirely, but it's only a text.

_**Hey sweetie, missed you today. Still on for our study session? 6 pm as usual? Love, B.**_

I'd completely forgotten about our standing date.

I grumble to myself as the realisation sinks in that I will be seeing Blair today after all.

A fresh pang of guilt twists inside my stomach for not appreciating my wonderful, doting girlfriend.

**_Sure, can't wait. -N_**

Another lie (it's becoming a habit).

I'm looking forward to seeing Blair about as much as I'm looking forward to the apocalypse.

I might find out just what the end of the world looks like when I tell her the truth.

She's going to be devastated.

.

**Tuesday, 4.20 PM**

I stop by the Van der Woodsen apartment on my way past.

I want to check on Serena. See if she's feeling any better.

I also need to prepare her for the wrath of Blair.

I'm going to confess everything tonight.

Serena is probably going to beg and plead me not to.

But, if I don't, the sense of guilt and self-loathing burning through my whole body is probably going to cause me to spontaneously combust any day now.

Clearly secrets aren't my strong suit.

I walk into the open lobby, Vanya holding the door open, greeting me warmly.

The high-pitched _ding _of the elevator, as it opens to invite me in, sets me on edge.

I'm steeling myself for a conversation with Serena that will be awkward at best, calamitous at worst.

It's only been seventy-two hours since I saw her last. But I miss her.

Each minute without her has felt like an eternity.

Now I'm in the elevator - so close to her, but not there yet - each second is drawing out into one of those eternal minutes.

My heart is thumping hard and fast into my sternum.

I can't catch my breath.

I'm suffocating, starved of oxygen in the too-small space.

My head is spinning, sending me into a state of indescribable delirium.

I try in vain to maintain my tenuous grasp on reality.

Everything unravels in front of me, until I can no longer feel it.

My mind is devoid of rational thought. Of anything concrete.

It is a call back to the fuddled carnal knowledge of last Saturday night.

In that short time, Serena and I had been one.

Nothing outside of ourselves had existed.

Now it's just me.

Only one heart furiously beating out of time.

Low, ragged breathing unaccompanied by its soft, purring counterpart.

No delicate little hands clawing my bare chest.

Or endless, silky legs draped around my waist in a concupiscent circle.

No one humming lustfully into my ear.

_Nate. Nate. Oh, Nate._

_Nate!_

Suddenly I'm aware of hands clutching at my shoulders.

Gently shaking me back to the present.

"Nate, are you okay?"

Lily stands in front of me, a look of intense panic flickering in her eyes.

I don't know how long I've been standing in front of her.

Or whether I managed to make it out of the elevator unassisted.

But I'm in the van der Woodsen apartment.

My eyes dart around the open lounge to take in my surroundings.

Serena is nowhere to be seen.

"Oh, I'm fine thanks, Ms van der Woodsen."

I finally pull myself together and speak a coherent sentence.

I'm not fine though.

Apparently my new-found habit of deception isn't reserved exclusively for Blair.

"I was just wondering if Serena's around. Everyone's wondering why she hasn't been at school."

I'm not sure whether this is the truth.

Besides Blair, no one has even mentioned Serena's absence to me... and even she didn't seem particularly bothered by it.

But _I _have been wondering why Serena hasn't been at school.

Lily's face shifts to an expression of severe anguish.

She bows her head to avoid meeting my gaze.

She's clearly unnerved by the current topic.

"She didn't tell you?" Lily finally musters the courage to ask.

I shake my head, stunned to complete silence.

I can feel my heart racing again.

The atmosphere enveloping us is sombre.

_Didn't tell me what? What's wrong?_

The voice in my head is screaming, but I can't get the words out.

"She left," Lily answers uncomfortably, still not meeting my eyes.

"She's gone to boarding school. I thought you knew."

My mind goes blank again.

I can't think straight.

_Gone? How can she be gone?_

But I know exactly why she's gone.

Why she disappeared without a single goodbye.

She's running.

From the guilt.

From telling Blair.

From me.

The weight of it all comes flooding back to me.

How am I going to tell Blair?

How am I supposed to tell her that I lost my virginity to her best friend?

And that said best friend has subsequently fled the city?

Eventually, I manage to mutter a few broken words in response. "No, she didn't say anything."

I drop my head and walk back into the elevator.

I catch a glimpse of myself in the back-wall mirror.

I don't think I've ever seen anyone look so hopelessly desolate.

.

* * *

**A/N: Thanks for reading. I hope you enjoyed this. Reviews would be lovely. Blair's up next!**


	2. Blair

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Gossip Girl. All characters are property of Cecily von Ziegesar.**

**Warning! I try to deal with Blair's eating disorder as sensitively as possible in this chapter but, of course, it's a very delicate topic. I hope that it doesn't upset any of my readers.**

* * *

**Chapter Two**

**The rhythm of my footsteps crossing flood lands to your door have been silenced forever more.  
The distance is quite simply much too far for me to row,  
It seems farther than ever before.  
I need you so much closer.**

**- Death Cab For Cutie**

* * *

**Tuesday, 6.11 PM**

I lay on my tummy, legs splayed a little, a few science textbooks spread out in front of me on the bed.

Nate is precisely eleven minutes late.

It's annoying.

I roll over, limbs flailing in frustration.

He's never late.

Not for our study sessions.

Every Tuesday for the last five years, he's arrived promptly at six pm.

Something's wrong.

I can sense it.

I've had a nervous prickling in my stomach for the last three days.

I feel completely out of control.

Like I'm drowning.

I have no idea why.

I try to focus on my homework but I can't.

So I walk to my bedroom window.

Looking out onto Fifth Avenue, the throngs of men and women returning home from work, would usually make me feel relaxed.

The sheer normality of the scene is charming.

But today there isn't a thing in the world that could soothe me.

.

**Tuesday, 7.06 PM**

"Miss Blair, Mr Nate for you," Dorota calls up, voice echoing in the grand hallway.

He's over an hour late.

I don't really want to see him anymore.

The dormant agitation that was bubbling under the surface is now threatening to erupt into a hot fury.

Before I can protest, the door to my bedroom creaks open.

He can obviously sense the atmosphere I'm emanating because the door is moving painfully slowly and he hasn't set a foot over the threshold yet.

"Oh for goodness sake, Nate," I snap at him and walk over to the door to fling it wide open.

"Now that wasn't so hard, was it?"

"Sorry," he mumbles.

He's staring at his feet like a guilty child.

"For what? Being an hour late? Or not knowing how to open a door?"

I can hear the bitterness in my own voice.

But he doesn't respond in any way.

He just lightly kicks the toe of his shoe again and again into my hardwood floors.

I'm about to yell at him for putting little marks on the floorboards and scuffing a perfectly decent pair of Italian leather Forzieris.

Then he lifts his face to meet my steely glare.

I'm stunned into silence as I drink in his melancholy countenance.

His eyes are bleary and bloodshot.

It looks like he has been crying.

His lips are drawn down at the corners into a weak frown.

He exhales wearily.

I flinch away from the pungent scent of vodka and cigar tobacco as his breath hits me square in the face.

On any ordinary day, I would be shrieking with white hot rage by this point.

But this day is far from ordinary.

Nate wouldn't usually roll up drunk in the early evening.

Especially not on a Tuesday.

"What's wrong?" I ask, my voice all concern.

The anger that surged in my whole body just moments ago has evaporated.

I want to stride up to him and hold him in my arms.

But his whole body is rigid and defensive.

"Sorry I'm late. I was with Chuck."

He's being intentionally evasive.

His tone is insincere. He doesn't sound sorry at all.

He sounds... exhausted.

And completely indifferent to life.

"Is everything okay? With Chuck?"

I hide behind the pretence of Chuck's well-being, not wanting to force the issue.

My calm facade is cracking.

I want to scream at him: _tell me what is wrong with you!_

Panic is flooding over me.

I've never seen him so miserable.

Actually, I've never seen anyone so miserable.

"Can I take a raincheck on our study session?"

I don't want him to go.

He shouldn't be alone right now.

But I know he's not going to listen to me in his current state of inconsolable crapulence.

"Sure," I answer half-heartedly.

"You should go home and get some rest."

It sounds like a suggestion, but Nate knows me well enough to decipher the thinly-veiled order.

He nods his head in submission.

I can't tell how honest the gesture is.

He might go home. But he might equally head back over to Chuck's for an early Lost Weekend.

He turns to walk out, but I gently grasp his hand in mine.

"I love you," I whisper in my most soothing voice.

He looks bewildered, as if he doesn't know how to respond to this simple expression of affection.

"You too."

The words are completely void of feeling.

He pulls his hand out of mine.

The door gently slams behind him.

All the life is sucked out of the room.

It's empty.

I'm empty.

.

**Tuesday, 11.37 PM**

I'm rolling my cell phone anxiously between my clammy palms.

Like I have been for hours.

I can't decide what to do or who to call.

I start furiously scrolling through my contacts.

When I get to 'S', I find who I've been subconsciously wanting to speak to for the last four hours.

I press the send button.

_Ring ring, ring ring._

Answer phone.

_Hey, it's Serena. I can't get to the phone right now, but you know what to do._

_Beep._

I don't leave a message, but the her soft, sing-song voice tinkling through the line is enough to make tears well up on my lower lids.

I haven't spoken to her in days and I miss her.

She ignored the couple of text messages I sent.

A deep sigh of exasperation escapes my lips as I hang up.

I flop back into my pillows in an attempt to make myself comfortable.

Hoping that sleep will pull me under.

And, when I wake up in the morning, this whole day will feel like a distant memory.

.

**Wednesday, 1.16 AM**

I'm still wide awake.

I nearly drifted off once or twice, but the beginnings of bad dreams startled me back to consciousness.

I know that sleep will elude me until I'm sure that Nate is safe (and preferably sober).

I barely recognised the boy I saw earlier.

He was a hollow shell of the charming, thoughtful, free-spirited person I've known and loved for the last ten years.

Which makes it all the more confusing.

I wonder whether it was my fault.

Did I do something wrong?

Or was it to do with his family?

The Archibalds always seem so happy.

Was he having a tough time at school?

Maybe he fell out with Chuck.

Whatever the reason, I_ need_ to know.

I want to be able to help him.

So I pull my cell phone out from underneath my pillow and furiously tap away at the keys.

**_Have you seen Nate tonight? Is he okay? -B_**

A matter of seconds pass before the back light flashes with a reply.

_**No, haven't seen him since this morning. What's up? -C**_

The panic comes rushing in once again.

But this time it's more intense.

I'm working myself up into a frenzy.

I start hyperventilating.

_Calm down, _breathe in.

_Everything's fine, _breathe out.

Fighting to regain control, I inhale and exhale deeply. Slowly.

No doubt this bout of hysteria is unwarranted.

Nate's at home. In bed. Fast asleep.

I keep telling myself this. Again and again. Willing it to be true.

The rational part of me knows I must be right.

Because if he's not with Chuck, where else would he be?

_If _he's not with Chuck...

_**If I find out you're lying, I will punish you. -B**_

I mean it.

Probably a brutal punishment.

Perhaps the removal of a certain appendage that Chuck Bass makes good use of?

Phone flashes again. Right on cue with a perverted suggestion.

_**I'm not lying, but I sincerely hope you consider giving me my punishment anyway. -C**_

Even his text messages ooze a unique combination of arrogance, charm and bawdiness.

I can feel my cheeks flushing.

I giggle a little in spite of myself.

Consciously all I want to do is send a haughty message back.

But it's the first time I've genuinely laughed in what feels like an eternity.

So I simply reply:

_**Don't push your luck. Good night, Bass.**_

Then I lay back down.

I'm soon drawn into a dreamless slumber.

.

**Wednesday, 8.10 AM**

Woke up to a text from Nate.

_**Sorry I was being weird yesterday. Will explain later. -N**_

I'm glad he's finally going to let me in. All the way.

Then hopefully we can put this whole thing to bed and go back to something resembling _normality_. _**  
**_

Last night made me realise how_ abnormal_ things are without Serena at school.

I'm calling the VDW apartment to see if she wants to walk with me.

Surely she's not still ill.

_Ring. Ring. Ring -_

_"Good morning, van der Woodsen residence," _Lily answers after three rings.

_"Good morning, Ms van der Woodsen. It's Blair."_

_"Oh, hello."_

_"I was just wondering whether Serena would like me to stop by on the way to school so we can walk together?"_

The line crackles with palpable tension.

I wonder whether she can still hear me as the silence lingers on uncomfortably.

_"Lily, are you still there?"_

_"Yes, yes, I'm still here," _she finally sputters out. _"But Serena isn't."_

I feel my face contort in confusion.

_"I'm surprised that she didn't tell you herself."_

_Tell me what? _I want to shout down the line.

I've reached the end of my tether with all these cryptic moods and mumblings.

_"She left for boarding school on Saturday night." _Lily's voice is ringing with pity, and tenderness, and embarrassment.

My throat starts to dry up and constrict.

I can't voice a single word.

No matter, she continues the conversation for me.

_"At the very least, I would have thought Nate might have told you by now."_

I can't process all the information she's giving me.

Nate couldn't possibly have known about this... could he?

_"He came to the apartment last night to see if she was okay."_

My stomach is turning in tight little knots.

Gastric acid is burning me from the inside out.

I can't suppress the urge any longer.

_"I... I'm sorry Lily, I have to go,"_ I manage to stutter out.

I hang up immediately and dash into the bathroom.

I turn all four taps on to full pressure.

With tears prickling my eyes, I kneel down in front of the toilet.

I stare into its watery depths, already feeling the first pangs of guilt.

But it only increases my need for release. Relief.

I plunge two fingers into my throat in an attempt to purge myself of the irrepressible anguish residing within me.

My stomach heaves. Throat stings.

I lay curled up on the cold tiles, clutching desperately at my knees.

Attempting to gain some semblance of control.

But I'm broken.

Completely and utterly broken.

.

**Wednesday, 9.50 AM**

I'm only an hour late for school.

Eleanor point-blank refused to grant me a day off following the sudden onset of an undefinable illness.

Of course I couldn't tell her the truth.

Else it would have been goodbye Constance, hello Ostroff.

In all honesty, it's probably a good thing I'm not at home being scrutinised by my mother.

No doubt she would have tried to interfere in my personal issues with Nate.

And I wouldn't want to force her to extend too much motherly affection in the wake of my life-long best friend's ominous disappearance.

But that doesn't change the fact today is going to be hellish.

I didn't think things could get any worse than yesterday, but they have done.

Exponentially so.

I walk into calculus late.

Throat lacerated and bone dry.

Lips chapped.

Teeth still coated in remnants of vomit, despite having furiously brushed them three times.

Red scrapes over my knuckles.

The evidence of my abhorrent proclivity staining me inside and out.

Fortunately the only two people attentive enough to notice aren't around.

Still, everybody stares as I sit down.

It makes me self-conscious.

I open my textbook to the appropriate page and try to focus on the differential equations in front of me.

It's the only readily available distraction from the excruciating pain that's throbbing against the left side of my sternum.

Heartache.

.

**Wednesday, 12.35 PM**

I'm waiting for Nate on the Met steps.

He left me a message during third period asking me to meet him for lunch.

Even though I'm upset with him, I need to talk to him.

To know why he was so horribly depressed last night.

Besides, ruling the kingdom isn't really on the top of my priorities list today.

Especially as my consort has vanished. I feel lost without S by my side.

I can see him approaching.

He looks more relaxed than yesterday. And more sober.

But his smile is still lacking its usual pizzazz.

"Hey sweetie."

He's clearly trying to make up for yesterday.

But it's doing nothing to crack my icy mood.

My glare is fixed on his azure eyes.

There is no twinkling warmth in them. Just a cool, deep pool of blue.

I have no desire to exchange lovey-dovey endearments with him right now.

I get straight to the point.

"Why didn't you tell me Serena left?"

His facial expression visibly drops.

In fact, his whole body sags.

Like his stomach is about to fall out of his posterior.

He clearly wasn't anticipating the impending inquisition.

He bows his head... in shame? Fear? Remorse?

His face is unreadable.

"I... I'm sorry," he mumbles, still refusing to look directly at me.

My hard exterior is impenetrable to his soft, penitent voice.

"I wanted to tell you..."

He starts to trail off. The words he wants to say elude him. Or he knows they're inadequate.

"Then why didn't you?"

He's taken off guard by the acerbity in the question.

For the first time, his pleading eyes lock intensely with mine.

"I didn't want to break your heart."

The overwhelming earnestness of this statement pushes me over the edge.

Because my heart is breaking.

How could Serena just leave? Without even saying goodbye?

I explode into a fit of violent sobs, all the suppressed anger and sorrow finally spilling out.

As I collapse to the ground, Nate catches me in his arms and pulls my face against his chest.

My salty tears leave blotches on his shirt.

He combs his fingers through my hair and presses feather-light kisses to my forehead.

He's squeezing me so tight, I wonder he's the only thing holding me together.

If he let go, would I shatter into a million pieces?

.

**Wednesday, 9.30 PM**

The day has outstayed its welcome.

I've been praying for oblivion since the early morning.

Now the darkness has finally arrived, I can't sleep.

I should have cried and regurgitated all my upset by now.

But it's still festering inside of me.

I flip on the night light next to my bed, knowing that the only way to deal with my feelings is to face them.

No amount of purging, or crying, or suppression, or diversion will be able to repair my fractured heart.

Expression might.

So I open the draw of my nightstand to retrieve the appropriate item.

I unlock the little heart-shaped clasp on my pale-blue, leather-bound journal and flip to the first blank page.

A heavy, nervous sigh passes my pursed lips as I prepare for the brutal cleanse.

I pick up my favourite silver-plated, diamond-encrusted fountain pen.

Hand quivering, I start to write.

_Wednesday, December 6._

_It's the holiday season and everything is supposed to be perfect. But it's not. Serena's gone to god-only-knows where, for god-only-knows what reason. __We usually deal with this crazy time of year together. All the crazy family drama. And the crazy parties. And the crazy last-minute shopping._

_Now she won't even answer any of my calls or texts. I've been completely excommunicated from her life. And I don't even know why. I can't fix it because she won't listen. What do I do?_

_I don't even know how to feel. Angry, shocked, hurt, guilty, betrayed, embarrassed, lonely, confused. They're all jumbled up into a big blurry mess. Mostly, I feel bereft. The one person who was always there through everything - no matter what - has left me. Am I so hard to love?_

_Nate's acting strange as well. He's trying to be supportive, but I can tell that something's changed in him. There's this tension between us that was never there before. Like I'm mildly insufferable to be around. His eyes aren't full of love and affection. They're full of pity. And something else I don't recognise. _

_I __really need my best friend right now. She always makes it better. But the distance between us could be a million miles for all I know. I can't reach her. I just want to hear her voice, for her to hold me. Tell me everything is going to be okay._

_Sincerely, B._

.

* * *

**Author's Note: This chapter was really quite difficult for me to write due to the emotional intensity of it all. But I think it turned out pretty well and I hope you enjoyed it. Next chapter will hopefully be less intense. It's Chuck - so it will be snarky with a tinge of crudeness! Reviews are always appreciated. I love hearing people's thoughts.**


	3. Chuck

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Gossip Girl. All characters are property of Cecily von Ziegesar.**

* * *

**Chapter Three**

**"I think it's dark and it looks like rain," you said,**  
**"And the wind is blowing like it's the end of the**  
**world," you said, "and it's so cold it's like the**  
**cold if you were dead," and then you smiled for**  
**a second.**

**- The Cure**

* * *

**Thursday, 8.39 AM**

Thought about doing a bunk again.

Decided it was probably best to keep my attendance at around the fifty percent mark.

Wouldn't want to piss Bart off too much and risk having my gold card privileges revoked.

I walk through the gates to see Nate and Blair sitting on a stone seat straight ahead of me.

I would go sit with them, but Blair looks miserable as sin.

Nate must be in the bad books again.

God, am I glad I don't have a girlfriend.

I make a beeline for the steps up to the main entrance as quickly (and discretely) as possible.

The prospect of getting to homeroom early is actually more appealing than being subjected to Waldorf's bitchery for the next ten minutes.

I'm about half way up the steps when I hear an annoying girl-voice squealing, _"Chuck! Chuck!"_

I contemplate legging it up the next ten steps and hiding in the nearest classroom.

But ignoring one of Blairena's minions would be a dickmove.

I'd pay for it later. Most likely in the form of natural yoghurt being dumped on my head.

I turn round to see Iz is the one calling me. She's standing with Kati and Penelope at the bottom of the steps.

I still don't want to see Blair or Nate so I wave at them to come up.

I probably look like an idiot, but I don't particularly care.

They come bounding up the steps.

"Hey, what's up with Waldorf?" I ask when they reach me.

"Haven't you heard?" Penelope replies with a look of confusion.

Mind you, it's difficult to tell with Penelope. She always looks slightly confused.

It's a good job Nate doesn't fancy her back. The combined intensity of their stupidity would be dangerous.

"Heard what?"

I'm getting antsy with the ridiculous game of twenty questions.

Three pairs of eyes light up in front of me.

I know that look.

It's the look Blair gets when she has a piece of earth-shattering gossip.

Leaning in towards me, Kati explains, "well, rumour has it that S skipped town."

Her voice is saturated with excitement.

For the mean girls, this level of scandal is like an early Christmas present.

"Didn't even bother saying goodbye to Blair," Iz adds.

They're openly enjoying Blair's suffering and humiliation.

I'm not usually B's biggest endorser, but for some reason it pisses me off.

"What do you mean she 'skipped town'?"

"Apparently she's gone to boarding school in Connecticut," Iz answers.

This might be the worst news I've had all week.

Who the hell am I going to get high with when Nate's off doing boyfriend stuff?

"When? Why?"

I already know the answer to both those questions.

When? Last weekend.

Why? She feels guilty for fucking her best friend's boyfriend.

I don't even hear the no doubt incorrect response Penelope offers.

I'm too busy thinking about how this latest development is going to affect our little friendship group.

Serena was pretty much the glue that held us all together in the first place.

Not to mention the fact that Blair is now going to be doubly bitchy.

_Thanks a lot, _S, _for leaving _me_ to deal with this shit_.

.

**Thursday, 12.30 PM**

I'm sitting in the courtyard smoking a Cuban when Nate shows up.

He looks pretty worn out.

"Hey man," he listlessly greets me as he sits down on the bench.

"Don't sound too enthusiastic, will you?"

I try to lighten the mood, but his answering smile is weak and insincere.

It's quite clear that I'm not going to be able to avoid the elephant in the room.

I opt for a novel tactic instead. Honesty.

"I heard about S."

I don't know what else to say.

"Yeah," he sighs.

He's staring down at his tightly clasped hands.

"Is Blair okay?"

I don't know what has gotten into me.

Usually anything that pissed Waldorf off would be amusing to me.

But I find myself feeling oddly... sympathetic.

It's quite sickening actually.

"Whilst I appreciate your concern, I assure you that I've never been better," a sweet voice responds from behind us.

As we turn around, Nate and I nearly jump out of our skin.

She came so quietly, neither one of us had even known she was there.

"Hello Bass." Her smile was warm as our eyes met.

"Waldorf?" I answer back.

But I'm so baffled by the remarkable aura of serenity she's exuding, that the salute comes out as a question.

She looks like a different person. I don't think I've ever seen her so calm.

Neither has Nate apparently. His mouth hangs agape stupidly.

"Are you trying to catch flies sweetie?"

Her tone is jocular as she pushes his chin up with a tiny hand, closing his mouth for him.

_What the fuck?_

That's the million dollar question.

"Move up, Bass. Or are you going to make me stand for the next hour?"

I shuffle up a little to make room for her very small ass.

But I can't take my eyes off of her.

She probably thinks I'm checking her out.

If she were any other girl, I probably would be.

"Seen something you like, Bass?" she snickers good-humouredly.

I snap my head away and try to think up a quick response.

"Actually... yes."

"Oh yeah, what's that then?"

She's fucking smiling at me. _Smiling._

"You not being a complete bitch."

Her amusement only increases.

Obviously concerned that the blithe façade is about to crack, Nate chips in with a perfectly trivial question.

"How has your morning been?"

"Great actually. I got an A grade on my history paper and Nelly Yuki tripped on her shoelace."

She starts laughing cruelly.

It's good to know that the old Blair Waldorf is in there somewhere.

"How about yours?"

He's dumbfounded and can barely answer, but he eventually mutters out "yeah, fine I guess."

Ironically Blair's good mood is increasing the tension between the three of us.

It's like she's going to extreme lengths to avoid talking about Serena.

And it's making me and Nate feel uncomfortable.

I have to get away from the suffocating atmosphere as quick as possible, so I make up a really lame excuse.

"Well, as much as I _love_ being the third wheel, I have a meeting."

I see Nate's eyes screaming at me. They're saying _please don't go._

I shoot him an apologetic look back and stand up to leave anyway.

"See you later, Bass."

Her voice is warm honey and the smile on her face is angelic.

"Goodbye Waldorf," I answer as I turn my back to her and start walking towards the gates.

When I'm about ten metres away, I briefly glance over my shoulder at the two of them.

She's still cheerfully chattering away.

_The calm before the storm._

.

**Thursday, 4.30 PM**

I didn't make it back to class this afternoon.

The prospect of running into Blair after school was too terrifying to even chance it.

God only knows what mood I might have found her in.

Inexplicably angry, eerily joyous, annoyingly bitchy.

Crying... Fucking hell, I can't deal with crying.

It's like treading on eggshells around her.

Quite frankly, I'd be happy to just avoid her completely for the next few weeks until the storm has passed.

Fat chance of that happening, mind.

My cell phone starts to vibrate in my pocket.

I pull it out and flip it open.

'One New Message'

What a surprise, it's Hurricane Waldorf.

**_Butter? -B_**

Going out on a school night?

That sure as hell isn't the Blair I know.

Maybe I should be grateful for this new less high-strung version of her.

I've been actively encouraging her to unbundle her panties for the last eleven years.

It's exactly what I've always wanted.

And, since I can't escape the tempest, my best option is to just ride it out. Right?

I quickly type a reply.

_**Sure. What time? -C**_

.

**Thursday, 11 PM**

The night is already in full swing when I arrive at Butter.

The music is loud and the dance floor is packed with sweaty bodies grinding against one another.

In her current state of insanity, I half expect to see Blair joining in.

Apparently her priggishness is still perfectly in place though because she's sat by the bar twiddling with the garnish on her gin martini (a single green olive on a cocktail stick) and silently shooting scornful looks at the slutty women.

And she's by herself.

_Fucking terrific._

I take in a large gulp of air to brace myself for a one-on-one.

Maybe I could just leave without her even noticing.

Shit, she's looking right at me.

Now she's waving me over in a way that says: 'why aren't you moving you complete moron?'

I manage to place one foot in front of the other and start walking towards her.

It takes an awful lot more effort than walking should.

A minute later and I'm in front of her.

"Good evening, Bass."

Her greetings are always cool and formal.

"Waldorf," I respond with a single nod of my head. "Isn't it past your bedtime?"

She chuckles a little before responding.

"Not tonight, Bass. I fancied partying for a change -" she pauses slightly to consider her next sentence, "- and then a thought occurred to me... Who better to party with than Chuck Bass?"

The question is rhetorical but I can't see the harm in answering anyway.

Besides, I like this new development.

"Who better, indeed. So... what did you have in mind?"

I'm wondering just how far I can push her.

She leans in to whisper provocatively in my ear.

"Whatever _you_ have in mind."

Her voice is velvet and honey.

And she's deadly serious.

Her deep chocolate doe-eyes are locked intently with my own. But there's nothing innocent in them.

I drop my face to peel my gaze from hers.

I laugh my most uncomfortable laugh, wondering whether she knows what she's getting herself in to.

This version of Blair is strange, and charming, and scary.

And something else. Something I can't quite put my finger on...

I look up for a second to toss her a look that is equal parts incredulity, amusement, and warning.

But she doesn't flinch. She doesn't break her determined stare for even a fraction of a second.

It's as if she's hypnotising me into submission.

"Okay, let's go," I reluctantly murmur.

She jumps from her barstool.

As she turns to head for the exit, I place my hand on the small of her back to guide her out.

.

**Thursday, 11.38 PM**

"Where are we?" she asks as the limo rolls to a steady halt.

I wonder if she regrets coming with me.

Panic flashes across her face and tears start to well up in her eyes as she looks out of the tinted glass window to see the familiar street.

"No, no, Chuck. I don't want to be here. This isn't what I asked for."

She's frantically shaking her head.

She closes her eyes, probably trying to imagine that she's anywhere other than where we are right now.

"Take me away, Chuck," she pleads with me.

She looks so dreadfully helpless that I consider doing as she asks.

But I stand my ground.

"No, I can't. What sort of friend would that make me?" I say softly, but firmly.

Her eyes are bewildered. Whether it's because I just acknowledged that we are _friends _(something I've never expressed aloud before), or because she's too frightened to get out of the car, I don't know.

"No, Chuck,_ I_ can't. I need to _escape_. Please, _help me_ escape."

Her voice is desperate and demanding in equal measure, as the tears spill over and roll down her lightly flushed cheeks.

I can tell that she means it with all of her heart.

Because I know how it feels to want to step outside of yourself and forget everything about your life, yourself, even your own name.

Even if it is only for one night.

I know that she wants nothing more than for it all to just go away.

To wake up tomorrow morning and realise that the last few days were just a horrible nightmare.

But that isn't going to happen.

And she has to face reality.

Serena is gone.

But her life has to go on.

"I'll come with you," I urge as I reach past her to open the door.

She tries to grab my hand to stop me, but she's not quick enough.

The door swings open, and I give her a gentle nudge towards the street.

Over her shoulder she shoots me a questioning look.

In this moment she looks so vulnerable.

She's silently asking me if it's safe, and telling me that she's scared.

I nod at her slowly and reassuringly.

She places one foot, then the next, onto the pavement, trepidation causing her whole body to tremble.

I grip her tiny waist with my large hands, assisting her into a standing position.

The first step she takes is so small that I can hardly tell she's moved, and she stumbles a little.

She's left me just enough room to slide out of the car and stand beside her.

For a short minute, we both stand on the sidewalk, looking up at the grand fifteen-storey building.

1136, Fifth Avenue.

I lightly weave my arm around Blair's back.

Not out of comfort, just for physical support.

The combination of gin and devastation seems to have knocked her slightly off balance.

"Come on," I whisper in her ear as I lead her into the lobby of her apartment block.

She wipes the salty tears from her eyes with the heel of her palm.

I can't believe I'm actually doing this, but I pull the lilac, silk pocket square from my suit jacket and hand it to her.

"Thank you," she manages to choke out.

The elevator ride up to the Waldorf's penthouse feels excruciatingly long.

Especially in complete silence, with an uncomfortable two-foot lacuna between myself and Blair.

She appears to have regained her composure, but I'm sure it's just a façade assembled for her mother's benefit.

Even though Blair never speaks openly to me about her family (we just don't have that sort of friendship), it's clear that Eleanor is somehow constantly dissatisfied with her daughter.

Eleanor's coldness reminds me of Bart.

Her underhanded snide remarks towards Blair would probably go unnoticed by a child who isn't experienced in the realm of over-critical parents.

But I can see how she makes Blair feel unworthy, pathetic and weak.

The only difference between myself and Blair is that the insecurities our parents have generously armed us with have taken antipodal manifestations.

Blair is a neurotic control-freak, obsessed with ruling the school and being better than everybody else. Apparently that makes her feel less worthless.

I, on the other hand, ceased to give a shit many years ago. Once I realised that Bart was never going to have the slightest shred of respect for me, I decided I might as well stop trying.

Blair obviously hasn't reached that stage yet, as demonstrated by the ridiculous false smile she's now plastering onto her face as the elevator goes _ding _and the doors slide open.

God forbid Eleanor witnesses her daughter crying.

Luckily, when we step out of the elevator into the grand entrance hall, it's nearly silent (save for the_ tick-tocking_ of the antique grandfather clock) and all the lights are out.

Presumably everyone is in bed.

As soon as Blair realises that we're alone, her mask crumbles into an expression of despair once again.

_Fucking fantastic. _I hope against hope that she's not expecting a shoulder to cry on.

I'm not exactly the sensitive, in-touch-with-my-emotions type.

But I don't wan't to act like a pig and just disappear.

"Sooooo?" I drawl out uncomfortably.

She looks up at me expectantly with her wide eyes, under a fringe of matted dark lashes.

"Do you want to come upstairs?" "Are you going to be okay now?" she and I blurt out simultaneously.

The look in her eyes turns from a glimmer of hope to an abyss of hurt as she registers my question.

She drops her face to hide her humiliation at the rejection.

For whatever reason, I can't help but take pity on the vulnerable girl-child standing in front of me.

Maybe it's the contrast with her ordinary calm, collected exterior.

And the way her eyes are shimmering with tear-drop diamonds.

How her bottom lip is jutting out, puckering her mouth into a prurient coral pout.

Or maybe it's because her normally virginal, milk-white skin has flushed into a resplendent, arousing pink.

And that the sad whimpers building in her throat sound almost erotic.

Whatever it is, I can't resist her.

"Yeah, of course," we both answer at the same time again: she with immense pride, I with feigned nonchalance.

We both laugh a little at our poor timing.

The tremor of her face causes a single tear to fall from her cheek and splash onto the cold tiled-floor.

Then she looks up and smiles at me sweetly.

_Jesus fucking Christ, what is coming over me? _I wonder as I flash her a small smile back.

Deep in my chest I feel something quite peculiar. A sort-of metaphorical warming. Thawing.

It feels unnatural. Yet strangely... nice.

"Come on, let's go up," I say, hoping that the feeling doesn't disappear.

We head towards the staircase.

This must be the first time in my life that I've accompanied a girl into her bedroom without the intention of having sex with her.

When we get to her bedroom, she silently slips into the adjoining en suite.

Meanwhile, I wander aimlessly around the big blue room, which is so thoroughly 'Blair' in its understated opulence.

I pick up and inspect objects at random. A little leather earring case containing the most exquisite blue sapphire studs on her dressing table. An old battered paperback copy of _Tender Was the Night _left open on her nightstand. A heavy, gold-plated fountain pen on her writing desk. A lilac silk eye-mask hanging over one of the bed knobs. A black Valentino cocktail dress slung over the arm of her chaise lounge. A gilt-framed photograph of our once so close - but now physically and emotionally fragmented - coterie standing on her dresser.

For an abiding moment, I stare at the photo longingly.

Then I experiment with covering Serena's face over with my thumb.

But the picture looks all wrong without her.

Suddenly I hear little pattering footsteps behind me, and I guiltily return the picture to its place on the dresser.

I turn around in an attempt to conceal my prying to a newly silk pyjama-clad Blair.

She's already noticed the object of my attention.

But she doesn't care.

She steps even closer to the dresser and starts wistfully caressing the frame.

"When did everything get so messed up, Bass?" she asks with a high-pitched note of strain in her voice, her head tilted to look at my face, eyes once again glistening with tears, bottom lip quivering as she breaks into untameable sobs.

Superficially, the question is addressed to me, but I know that she's searching for the answer within herself.

So I remain silent, not knowing what I would say even if she was expecting an answer.

I can't remember Blair ever having laid out her naked emotions to me like this before.

Finally that impenetrable icy exterior has cracked.

The dawn of a new phase in our friendship.

To commemorate the event, she does something completely unexpected.

She reaches out and grabs my big, rough hand in her tiny, soft one.

Her cold, slender fingers weave in between mine.

A flicker of electricity passes between us.

"Stay with me until I fall asleep," she says softly.

I'm not sure whether it's a request or a demand, but I hesitantly oblige.

I sit down on the chaise lounge.

She slides under the weighty feather comforter and snuggles into the pillows.

Her eyes flutter shut and, mere minutes later, I hear her soft breathing deepen.

In her heavy slumber all lines of distress are absent from her pretty physiognomy, replaced by a smooth serenity.

Regrettably, when the day breaks, so will that ephemeral mirage.

"Good night, Blair," I whisper softly from across the room, as I take one last look at the little girl swaddled in duvet.

I slip out of the door, down the stairs, into the elevator, through the lobby, onto the street, and into my awaiting limo as quietly as possible.

"Victrola please, Arthur."

.

**Friday, 8.43 AM**

Last night turned out to be a wild one.

After my temporary transmogrification into a disgustingly sensitive pantywaist, I felt the need to resurrect the real Chuck Bass.

The ceremony consisted of a whole bottle of Nolet's Reserve, an eighth of hash, five busty burlesque dancers, and a champagne room.

The aftermath a stonking hangover and short term memory loss.

Unfortunately, today was one of those rare occasions that Bart was actually at home around the time I'm supposed to leave for school (as opposed to being on an international business trip, in an early morning board meeting, or banging his twenty-two year old secretary).

And apparently this morning was as good a time as any for him to actually start parenting. Hence my being at school.

With narrow, bloodshot eyes, I stare blankly into the opening courtyard.

I attempt to walk in a straight line towards the steps. God only knows how I'm going to make it up those fucking steps in this state.

It seems my feet are betraying me. I probably look a lot like Waldorf did last night.

I bump into an undistinguishable dark-haired male.

A pile of books and papers fall from his arms onto the concrete floor.

"Ugh, oh, I'm sorry," he starts muttering, the mop-headed buffoon, as he bends down to retrieve the crap he was carrying.

Being honest, I know it wasn't his fault we collided, but I don't apologise to people... I'm Chuck Bass.

I just sort of grunt in disdainful acknowledgement of his apology.

Which is when I feel a firm grip around my forearm.

"He's really sorry," Nate says with that warm, friendly demeanour of his.

He juxtaposes this with a huffy aside to me. "What the hell is up with you?"

Nate helps this guy (is he a student or a teacher?) retrieve his pile of crap.

Mr No-Name thanks him and walks away.

"Seriously man, what has gotten into you?" he repeats, a little less accusatory and a little more concerned this time around.

Nate's attempt at 'serious' just sounds idiotic to me.

I'm not in the mood for the third degree either, so I respond with the most biting remark I can think up in my current stupor.

"Maybe if you paid a little more attention to your girlfriend, I wouldn't be in this state," I snarl bitterly.

I realise two things as the words slip through my teeth.

One: I'm not actually answering his question.

Two: without any context, what I'm saying will make absolutely no sense to him.

But it's too late. It's already out.

His face starts to crumple in confusion at my words.

An awkward pause stretches between us.

"What does Blair have to do with this?" he eventually asks.

"Nothing, forget I said anything."

I try to walk away from him, but he grabs on to my upper arm this time to pull me back.

"No. I want to know what you meant by that."

It's surprising to see Nate standing his ground, considering he's usually more of the trusty, subservient lapdog type.

Though maybe that's just for Blair. Who knows?

He's staring at me demandingly.

Bloody hell, I'm going to have to come up with an explanation else he's never going to let it drop.

I can't tell the truth without making it sound like Blair has gone completely down in Acapulco.

Which is the last thing she'd want Nate to think.

And I have a reputation to uphold, which would be ruined by people finding out that I actually let Blair Waldorf _hold my hand _and blow her nose into one of my treasured Armani pocket squares.

Besides, Nate would probably think that I was preying on her vulnerability in an attempt to seduce her.

I couldn't really blame him. That sounds exactly like something I would do.

Just not with Blair. There are some boundaries even I'm not willing to cross.

I guess I'm going to have to come up with a bloody good lie.

Nothing is coming to mind though.

So I settle for a distinctly mediocre semi-truth.

"We went to Butter. Had a few drinks. She left. I didn't."

He can't possibly have any objections to that.

"She went to Butter - with _you_ - last night?"

Okay, apparently he can.

I feel like I should be offended by his sneering emphasis of the second person pronoun. But whatever.

"Yeah. What's the big deal?"

He's probably thinking that I've somehow lured his perfect Upper East Side princess into my web of depravity.

"Nothing, I guess. It's just she didn't mention it."

There's a note of annoyance underlying his forced indifference.

Looks like I might have inadvertently landed Blair in Shit Creek without a paddle.

"Look man, I should go find Blair."

Now, there's a surprise.

Nate running off to act like Boyfriend of the Year 2006.

"Try not to clothesline any more strangers," Nate adds jocularly as he turns away.

It sounds a little false to me though.

.

**Friday, 4.57 PM**

The day was uneventful and long.

School is pointless.

Now I'm going to bed to sleep off this incessant hangover.

.

* * *

**Author's note: when I started this chapter, I actually intended for it to be very snarky all the way though. I'm not sure how it got so sentimental in the end, but I hope you liked it anyway. **

**I realise that this isn't true to the television series, as it is made quite clear that Chuck really had no inclination of his feelings for Blair until the night at Victrola. However, I will say that it still _fits_ with the TV series because I imagine that Chuck would deeply repress that little flicker of emotion he felt for Blair in this chapter. Besides that, he actually hasn't figured out what it is he was feeling for Blair. I would describe it as camaraderie though, rather than lust or romantic affection. **

**Reviews are always appreciated :)**

**Stay tuned for Dan!**


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